


Crying Out

by Demibel



Series: History Repeats [3]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Vikings (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, F/M, In a world where Ragnar and Lagertha had a second chance, M/M, Multi, Reincarnation, There's some Enjolras pining if you squint really really hard but not really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-08
Updated: 2015-03-08
Packaged: 2018-03-16 23:48:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3507206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Demibel/pseuds/Demibel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They may be Laetitia and Raymond, but Lagertha and Ragnar were made for war. Their blood sings and their souls cry out for Vallhalla. And now, finally, they have the opportunity to sate that desire. They will find their honor in the streets of France, just two of the many who were crying out for justice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Crying Out

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry this took like a year to update. I lost my muse for it for a while, but I've been itching to finish it. Hope you all enjoy it.

On the rare nights they spent time apart, Grantaire found comfort in his friends. The camaraderie and wine found at the Musain was enough to keep his mind off of what his lovers were doing without him. Of course, he did not mind it when they needed to spend time together, as was their right as a married couple, but for someone who was never meant to belong anywhere, he could not help the ache in his chest when he was alone.

So, being around his friends helped. He was settled in this life, this man who believed in nothing, and drank far too much for his own good. He was settled in the fact that he would never be quite as good as Athelstan once was. He remembered his past self, all the trials that he had been through, from monk to Viking and back and forth. So many changes in such a short time, it’s no wonder he so easily forgot that life when he came into this one.

Still, he did not dwell on it much. Not when Bahorel was challenging him to a boxing match later on that day, making a wager on it. He laughed and drank and forgot who he was so many years ago. Today, he was just Grantaire, a reluctant tag along of Les Amis de l’ABC.

And then she walked in. He noticed the shift in the air as soon as she did. He turned to smile at the woman, Laetitia, but saw only Lagertha. Even in a Frenchwoman’s peasant clothing, she was that warrior woman he’d come to love so much. She had an air of royalty about her that seemed to shine brighter than the dirt that caked her skin. When he looked at her, a warmth bloomed in his chest, like he was sitting at a warm hearth that she tended to.

Everyone noticed this change in Grantaire, even if they said nothing. True, Courfeyrac would jab and tease, and Jehan would wax poetic about this new lady love in Grantaire’s life, but none of his friends truly begrudged his happiness. They noticed, when he declined a fourth glass of wine, when he shook his head politely when a pipe was offered. Even Enjolras looked on with raised brow and stony expression.

Enjolras watched them now, as they embraced, though he was meant to be studying his various charts. His eyes wandered to where Grantaire was pulling out a chair for the woman, and she was laughing at the gesture. She touched his arm, so fond and gentle. Her name was Laetitia, he remembered vaguely. She wasn’t even that beautiful, not really. He couldn’t understand. Her hair was too matted, her features too sharp, her eyes too wild for her to be beautiful. Why then did Grantaire dote on her so?

It vexed the leader, to see the drunk so enamored. Pontmercy was the same with his Cosette, and he’d come to expect that from the boy, but Grantaire? Grantaire was always the one he could count on to understand the aversion he had to distractions of the heart. The man who believed in nothing, surely he didn’t believe in love. Lust was less distracting, though Enjolras had chosen to remove that from his life as well. But lust could be resolved with a warm night and a quick kiss in the morning. Love was different, it consumed a mind and moved a heart, and Enjolras could see his debate partner quickly falling under love’s spell. And for a mere….woman.

Needless to say, he was concerned. With the revolution before them, he wanted to be certain that they were ready for what sacrifices were to come.

He walked up to them then, his default frown seeming just slightly more pronounced when he found them whispering and giggling like school children. He cleared his throat and Laetitia looked over at him, a raised eyebrow and an expression that let him know that he should tread with caution. In another life, he might have liked her. In a world where he enjoyed the company of women, he would have liked her spirit, and the fight he saw burn so clearly in her eyes. But this was now, and he found her gaze distasteful, and disrespectful.

“Are you going to join us, Grantaire?” He asked without looking at the other man, his eyes locked on the woman. She turned to look at Grantaire, her expression softening somewhat. In that moment, Enjolras could almost see her beauty. Grantaire, on the other hand, was now completely focused on the chief.

“I was not aware that I was so needed, Enjolras.” He replied in that challenging tone Enjolras was all too familiar with. The blonde let out a soft huff and crossed his arms, tilting his head over his shoulder, a wordless gesture for Grantaire to follow.

With a sigh, the priest turned cynic, kissed his lady’s cheek and stood, following the chief. Lagertha was left to be Laetitia with the other women of the Musain. With them, she was just another mistress, worrying over her boy as he played at revolution, but in her heart of hearts, she knew that this is where he belonged. He had never been more beautiful to her than when he was thrown into the thrill of battle. He thrived with an axe in his hand, and now, he had just traded the axe and shield for a gun and a bottle of absinthe.

She’s proud of him. Ragnar is proud of him too. Her warrior husband, reduced to a peasant man scrimping and saving to make their lives bearable. He’s desperate for the call to arms now, even if he does not join these school boys in their game. She knows that when the time comes, they will be among the masses fighting because that is where they belong. They may be Laetitia and Raymond, but Lagertha and Ragnar were made for war. Their blood sings and their souls cry out for Vallhalla. And now, finally, they have the opportunity to sate that desire. They will find their honor in the streets of France, just two of the many who were crying out for justice.


End file.
